


Late night coffee

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: "So.  How did you meet your boyfriend?"Weeeeeeellllllll...





	Late night coffee

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.
> 
> Day 1 entry for Ignyx week.  
> Prompt: late night coffee

“So.  How did you meet your boyfriend?”  Crowe will ask him some undisclosed time in the far future, probably across a table strewn with bottles, as sober as the day she knocked Tredd flat on his ass, untouched by the weak pisswater Lucians call beer.  “Did you go weak in the knees over the broad set of his shoulders?  Did your mouth go dry as you ducked into a bar and spotted him in a halo of light, shirt wet and clinging in all the right places from the rain outside?  Did he ask for your hand in a dance at one of those bi-annual galas the King hosts?  Did you _literally_  run him over and leave your number on his cast at the hospital?  Accidental dick picks pique your interest?”

Crowe will tease him and cackle at his squirming until she’s too hoarse to utter another word, until she falls backwards out of her chair and laughs herself sick on the floor.  He knows this, because nothing slips under the radar of Crowe Altius.  _Nothing,_ not even a relationship he’s trying his damnedest to keep secret.  Sure he could _lie_  to her face, pull his spine poker straight and meet that fiery stare and say he has no goddamn clue what she’s talking about, he isn’t dating anyone.  But it’s _Crowe_ , and she sniffs out lies like sharks with blood.  But if he tells the truth then he’ll never hear the end of her questions, her teasing, her ire that he hadn’t told her sooner.  Her prying into his partner’s _identity_  and Nyx... well.  He wouldn’t inflict the self-contained storm that is Crowe on anyone.

That, and she’d probably die on the spot if he dared admit Ignis’s _hair_  caught his attention first.

* * *

He stalls at the door, bell chiming cheerfully above his head as rain pelts in around him, whipped up and vicious thanks to the autumn gale determined to lift the entire city off its foundations.  It’s not the addition of fairy lights that brings him pause - though they’re a nice touch and less of an assault on his eyes this late at night - nor the apron his favourite barista is wearing ( _kiss the cook_  on the front, _kiss my ass_  on the back).  It’s not even because someone is perched in his usual chair that slams his brain up against the front of his skull and turns it into incoherent mush beyond mad laughter.  Oh no, not at _all_.

No, it’s the hair.  The familiar (sort of), sandy, styled hair.

That looks like the crest of a goddamn cockatiel.  A bright yellow and it’d match his neighbour’s bird.

It takes far more willpower than he’ll ever admit to unlatch his hand from the door and let it swing shut, to smother the amusement bubbling up his throat as he chances a step forward, then another, and another, mentally lecturing himself on the pros and cons of opening his mouth and jamming his foot right in it with some careless wisecrack liable to land him on traffic duty if he turned it on Drautos.  It takes more concentration than he’ll ever confess to using to recall the change in his usual order, daring to try the coffee with a _“rich wintry blend of festive berries, dark cocoa, and warming cinnamon”_ instead of his standard caffeine fix, black, no sugar, in the largest cup available, ta.

And then all his effort goes out the fucking window when he spies a face and realises the guy seemingly trying to jitter himself into an early grave is none other than _Ignis Scientia_ , adviser and best friend to the Crown Prince, and something like a hysterical cackle must escape him because Ignis manages to peel himself up from his sprawl across the countertop just as Nyx plonks down beside him and fixes him with a green stare that’s somehow aware enough to drill right through him _and_  distant enough to miss him.

“Rough night, Ignis?” He ventures after placing his order, unsure if he’s even been _recognised,_ eternally grateful that Tifa is tactful enough to keep herself busy and pretend to give them some privacy, and if she knows who _Ignis_  is, she keeps that secret tucked into her tip pouch.

Ignis stirs, blinks, clarity and focus coming to his eyes all at once as a frown carves lines into his forehead.  Nyx holds the stare, eyebrows migrating towards his hairline with every second that passes by in silence, before there’s an inelegant snort and Ignis swivels back around to face the shiny chrome station being put to use.

“Rough _week_ , Ulric,” he says and the curl of that goddamn voice around his name is delicious enough to knock him stupid and mute, so much so that when his drink is plunked down in front of him he’s on automatic reflex when he clinks the cup to Ignis’s, toasting to _“not murdering every imbecile on that useless Council for their empty words and posturing”._

He is a weak, weak man.  And he is doomed.

* * *

He is a weak man _blessed_  three months later with those long, lean legs bracketing his hips, metal kissing his throat as Ignis leans over him, flushed and sweaty and _scalding_ to the touch, his grin a feral thing with the blood smeared over his mouth.

“Yield, _Ulric_ ,” he commands, low and dark and glorious and Nyx shivers even as he relinquishes his weapons to the King’s Armiger and makes a show of stretching his arms above his head, daring to arch his spine _just so_ , spies the heat in that unblinking gaze.

“Do I have to when I so enjoy being under you, Scientia?”

And then Ignis kisses him, wild and fierce, and between the sting of a cut on his neck and the _bite_  of vicious teeth is it any surprise at all that he moans and gives Ignis the surrender he’s fought for?


End file.
